Crudo - Zester Daily

The Cradle of Crudo

Italian-style raw fish is all the rage in the U.S. But it came from Puglia, the land between the seas.

By Nancy Harmon Jenkins | Tuesday, 17 November 2009 | 13:11

Crudo

Ask for crudo in a smart New York restaurant and you're likely get a plate of raw fish, beautifully filleted and dressed with fine extra virgin olive oil and a few drops of lemon juice. Chef David Pasternak of Esca on West 48th Street was one of the first to start serving raw fish in what is said to be an Italian style and the fad for crudo quickly swept the town—as well as the nation because what dazzles the natives in New York (or Los Angeles or San Francisco for that matter) often zips across the country with the speed of a food writer in hot pursuit of the Next Big Thing.

But if you ask for crudo almost anywhere in Italy, you'll get a blank stare—or a plate of raw prosciutto ham, prosciutto crudo. Raw fish is something most Italians simply are not willing to eat. Like panini, another Italianate food fad that is altogether different back home, crudo in Italy doesn't mean much.

Except in Puglia, that long, slender peninsula that reaches out into the eastern Mediterranean and forms the shapely heel of the Italian boot. This is where many years ago crudo, as in pesce crudo, or raw fish, was born and where it reigns to this day in the lively old city of Bari and the surrounding coastal region.

You'll find impeccable pesce crudo, raw fish and shellfish, served in many seafood restaurants thereabouts. The cognoscenti among Barese crudo lovers, however, head south along the coast about 20 miles from the region's capital to Polignano a Mare, a lively medieval town perched on dramatically eroded limestone cliffs with the impossibly green Mediterranean swirling below. Specifically, they head to a waterside restaurant called da Tuccino which faces a small bay just north of the town. Here the Centrone family has operated for years, serving up the finest and freshest fish imaginable from a vast array brought in daily from Puglia's two seas, the Adriatic and the Ionian. Pasquale Centrone, who runs the restaurant with his wife Antonella and his young son Vito, inherited the place from his father, the first Vito, called Vituccio or Tuccino, who began with a seaside hole-in-the-wall where his wife transformed the fish he sold into dishes of rare charm.

A Discovery in Puglia

Last month, while visiting Puglia to help with a video about the region's gastronomic traditions for the Culinary Institute of America, I paid a return visit to Tuccino, where I'd had an amazing later dinner some years ago when I stumbled in with a group of food writers. At the time, we knew little or nothing about the reputation of the place, but it was instantly clear from the impeccable display that we had come to the right spot. We made an overly ambitious selection from the rich bank of seafood, then proceeded to demolish -- or try to -- platter after platter of deliciously fresh raw fish. Midway through our epicurean exercise, head waiter Damiano recognizing a flagging of spirits, quickly whisked away the remaining fish, only to reappear, minutes later, with the same denizens transformed, through roasting, grilling, frying, into a different dimension. It was clear that we had come upon one of the finest seafood restaurants of the Mediterranean, possibly one of the finest in the world.

My most recent visit, however, was a little different. The amiable Pasquale, recently stricken with multiple sclerosis, still oversees the restaurant from a wheelchair perched at the entrance, greeting each new group of visitors and keeping a sharp eye on the banchetto of dewy seafood offerings, while his wife Antonella moves quietly but constantly about the dining room, her eye out for a missing fork, an unhappy customer, an overturned wine glass, or just a chance to chat with returning guests. But it was not the best of times for da Tuccino. The restaurant would close the next day for the annual three-week vacation. Moreover, a week of turbulent weather, howling winds and pounding seas, had kept local fishing boats in port. The supply of fresh fish was limited. "We usually expect 50 to 60 kilos," Antonella Centrone said. "Today we'll be lucky to get 15." That's about 33 pounds of fish. Nevertheless, she said, "What the sea gives us, that's what we use."

Puglia calls itself la terra fra due mare -- the land between two seas. If it looks like one big Mediterranean to you and me, to the Pugliese it's the Adriatic on one side, the Ionian on the other. Whichever way you look, however, the waters surrounding Puglia's nearly 500 miles of coastline are a rich resource, even today when people complain that the Mediterranean is being fished out. And da Tuccino's supply exploits that resource to its fullest, drawing on Brindisi's fish market for Adriatic offerings and from Gallipoli on the opposite coast for seafood from the Ionian, such as bright red gamberi violeti, giant shrimps, that were served after the crudo, one to a customer, roasted on a bed of salt.

But first, the crudo: Despite the limitations of the weather, there was an array of pesce crudo, an unforgettable variety of seafood, tiny telline clams, pink shrimp, sweet langoustines, slivers of sepioline squid, Mediterranean black mussels from the Taranto lagoon where they've been cultivated since Roman times, and diced bluefin tuna. (I had sworn off bluefin because of its endangered status but couldn't resist the jewel-like deep crimson cubes.) Next came a big-headed red scorpion fish, incredibly ugly but with delicate flavor and firm texture, that had been stripped down to fillets which were then sliced and set briefly in a lemon juice bath. The dried slices were rearranged inside the stripped-out fish in an overlapping herringbone pattern. Dressed with extra virgin olive oil, freshly ground Muntok pepper and flakes of mosciame di tonno, salt-cured tuna loin from Sardinia, it was a subtle symmetry of sweet and salt, raw and preserved, with a nice acid balance from the tang of lemon juice.

What followed were orecchiette, small shells of pasta that are iconic to Puglia, made deep black with squid ink and served with pale, wedge-shaped telline and slivered zucchini blossoms. And then, the centerpiece of the meal, a handsome spigola or striped bass, which we had seen assembled in the kitchen in a blanket of thinly sliced Sieglinde potatoes, the yellow-fleshed variety that is a local favorite.

As he portioned out the spigola, Signor Damiano echoed Antonella Centrone's earlier words: "We use what the sea offers us. And if the sea offers nothing, the restaurant is closed."

Ristorante da Tuccino, Polignano a Mare, +39-080-424-1560, is open for lunch and dinner every day but Monday. Reservations are strongly recommended.

Nancy Harmon Jenkins is the author of several books, including "The New Mediterranean Diet Cookbook," "Cucina del Sole: A Celebration of the Cuisines of Southern Italy" and "The Essential Mediterranean."